You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison
by nimiutona
Summary: Elizabeta cheats on Gilbert with some guy he never met, and is constantly fighting with Gilbert. But what happens when fuel is poured into the fire, and Gilbert commits murder without even thinking? He is given a life sentence in prison, and with all of his aspirations and dreams crushed, he would never know the man who started all of this, truthfully, or, would he?
1. Chapter 1

**{Warning: Mentions rape (none happens), murder, offensive language, etc.}**

Gilbert Beilschmidt, cell mumber 342. Arrested for strangling a defenseless Hungarian lass to death in a triggered mental state. He claimed to not of had the murder premeditated, but the Hungarian and him had been feuding for a year after the girl went and cheated on him with some Austrian that the self proclaimed Prussian had never had a chance to personally and formally meet. Maybe Gilbert had just had enough of her ways, her scandelous, lying, betraying ways. He had to live with her, after all, not having anywhere else to stay since his brother really had more important people and things to attend to, so he was out of the question. Gilbert didn't want to bother his friends with himself, so he just had to stay where he had moved into, his ex-girlfriend's apartment, where they had originally planned to spend most of their lives together, even as a married couple. But, o, she had to go and ruin that, didn't she? Ruin it, and with that, get her life ended before most of it began. So maybe it was first degree murder, maybe it was second. Gilbert didn't care; either way, he went to jail. He never thought he'd be in jail. His brother and friend's didn't guess so either, and it was a huge shock to his brother. That business man Ludwig just left his brother to rot away, where he didn't belong, for the rest of his life. He didn't have any way to get out, he was stuck in jail forever. A life sentence.

And Gilbert had planned to go places like America, Japan, China, etcetera, and do so many things...he hadn't begun his part of the journey. Gilbert prayed his brother and friends would, although they only spent theirs wasting away in a cubicle. But, they had so many more possibilities. Gilbert's only one was to die. How he wished it would happen soon. Sitting up on the top bunk in a dusty jail cell, eating disgusting substances that he guessed he could call 'food', and even having to defend himself from a few predators; sex offenders and men who were just bored and... _needy_. Gilbert, for the first time in his life, wanted to die. Really wanted. What was there to live for? Maybe a few visits from his friends once in a while, but what else was there? Well, he could live out the rest of his life until he died, but there was nothing in that for him. He'd get touched and beat and ruined and corrupted before he'd die of some disease or maybe even old age. Again, Gilbert had already given up.

But, he had no way to kill himself. No where to jump from, nothing to hurt himself with. With guards watching them 24/7, somehow, some of the prisoners managed to commit suicide, but Gilbert never found out how. He secluded himself from people, so he never asked. Gilbert, however, had once heard a man around his age begging for fellow inmates to kill him, and, they did, right in front of Gilbert's eyes. So now, he was too scared to even ask of that. He couldn't ask anyone to kill him for him, he was too much of a coward to do it himself and too much of a weakling to ask them to, because if you asked them to kill you, man, there is no going back. The offering of murder was too tempting for the inmates, and like wild animals, and animals they truly were, the monstrous murderers beat the living hell out of that man, and killed him, just for the heck of it. Not because they felt pity. It was because they were hungry. Hungry for the smell of blood of their victims. It was absolutely horrid and gruesome and sickening. Gilbert hated it. He couldn't stand much longer of it.

Only if he could go back home...maybe it wasn't much of a home, but at least he wasn't being preyed on, at least he was eating real food, at least he had his own, warm bed...if only he could fall asleep and wake up at home. God, he'd give everything to take everything back. His hands...around that girl's thin neck...the look in her eyes as she...died...

Around one o'clock in the morning, the Prussian stumbled into the dimly lighted apartment. He closed and locked the door behind himself, his free hand moving up his face to run through his shaggy, chopped white bangs, his light pink eyes closing. Gilbert felt so fatigued having accidentally stayed out longer than he had expected. He went to a bar with his best friends, Antonio and Francis, since Ludwig refused to join them for he was busy working with Feliciano at the office with work that apparently could not be late. Antonio and Francis convinced Gilbert to drink with them, and after a few beers, he didn't expect to be woozy, but, he ended up being so. Gilbert hoped that his ex-girlfriend and roommate, Elizabeta, was asleep, so that she wouldn't get mad that he went out and drank late into the super early morning; that he went against her rules once again. Elizabeta didn't like drunks, and to be honest, they worried Gilbert a bit as well, but having been one for quite some time recently and being from Germany got him used to it. Come on, Germany was known for _bier_ , even his little brother used to drink, but he did get over it because it 'wasn't healthy'. Bullshit, Gilbert thought.

Gilbert turned around and was about to creep off to bed, to not awake Elizabeta whose self set bedtime was near eleven o'clock, but unfortunately, he found that she was not even asleep yet, and no where near it. With alert eyes watching over him, the Hungarian sat ominously on the kitchen counter. He froze when they both caught each others' eyes, but she moved swiftly to hop off of the counter, make her way over to him and say, "You're drunk."

"...no, I'm not. There was a delay on the subway."

Elizabeta was in no way convinced. Although the Prussian stood straight instead of slouching over, and managed his best to speak without slurring, he knew that Elizabeta knew he was lying to her. Instead of asking maybe what the delay was or just telling him to get to bed or something, she quickly gripped his shirt collar and shoved him against the door, yanked him downwards, and kissed him on the lips, only for a few seconds. If Gilbert didn't know that she could taste the alcohol on his lips and smell it on his breath, he would've very much enjoyed this.

The kiss only lasted a few more seconds, and then Elizabeta pulled away. "...liar. Why were you drinking when I told you not to?"

"Oh, come on, babe, it was only a few drinks wit' my boys..." Gilbert rolled his eyes as he mumbled, walking away from her and into the living room. The albino began to remove his coat and place it on the back of the sofa, then starting to roll up his sleeves and take off his shoes. This argument was only beginning, so next, the stubborn woman pursued him with her delicate arms crossed, annoying him by the expression that made her look so much more angrier than she really should've been. Maybe she was frustrated, or upset, Gilbert couldn't waste his precious time to figure it out himself.

"I'm not your babe!" She yelled, stopping behind him. Gilbert refused to turn and look at her, and remained staring at the beige wall in front of him. "Gilbert, you know how I don't like drunks, I'm scared of them, and-"

"Scared? Of a drunk? Why is that, then, girl?"

"I have a name, and I'm just afraid of what men like you can do."

"O...men like _me_? Do tell me what _men like me_ can possibly do." Gilbert snared.

Elizabeta paused. "They aren't in full control of their actions. Y-you could hurt someone, or yourself, or me...you could...rape me, and I'm just scared of that."

Now that was a good one. Now _that_ made Gilbert chuckle, and turn to her, his face contorted into many varying emotions. "Pssh, sweetie, who would want to do that to you? Not me, that is. Trust me, you're not worth the prison sentence for sex offense. Not one bit."

Elizabeta looked oddly insulted at this. She was so easily offended that it drove Gilbert crazy, wishing he could cut out his tongue to not make her get like that about everything he said. "So I'm not worth it?"

"No. Why, you want to go get raped or something? That's just sick." He snarled, placing one of his hands into his pocket and leaning against the couch. Elizabeta looked even more hurt, like Gilbert would honestly think she was a kinky slut. Hey, maybe she was, but Gilbert did not want to know that whatsoever.

"I would never! Stop being such a drunk, though, that's what _you_ should do!"

"Know what you should do, Elizabeta?" Gilbert edged closer, peering down at her menacingly. Elizabeta noticeably tensed her muscles up and shut her mouth for once. Gilbert could appear frightening at times, and although he knew it made the Hungarian uncomfortable and even less trusting of him, it was sort of funny watching her get defensive, well, until she slapped the cocky look out of his face. At least she didn't do it at the moment, and let Gilbert speak rightfully for once. "...You should take your motherly demands and stick them up your _ass._ Because I'm tired of hearing them."

"Ex-excuse me?" Elizabeta squeaked, clenching her small fists, as if she could do something with them. Yeah, she could sure pack a punch, but she would be too afraid to throw any jabs at Gilbert, still antsy and wary on what he would do. He was so much stronger no matter how wimpy he could be. Elizabeta didn't even know if Gilbert would hit a girl or not. "I'll have you know, this is my apartment, and if you aren't going to abide to my rules, then you need to get the hell out of here!"

"Shut up, _bitch_ , I'm tired of being treated like a kid."

"What did you call me?"

Gilbert scoffed. "Need a hearing aid, grandma? I called you a filthy, stinking _bitch_."

With that, Elizabeta's eyes seemed to catch fire, and she backed away from Gilbert, who stayed exactly where he was. He found this amusing, but, also...he felt a little bad to see the girl he was once in love with freak out like she did. Elizabeta hit the wall behind her, her eyes fogging up. Gilbert tilted his head, but soon had to dodge a glass vase that the Hungarian had yanked from the table beside her, flowers and all still in it. It zipped past him and collided with the wall, shattering loudly into hundreds or shards, and that made Gilbert angry. He snapped as well, moving towards Elizabeta, who moved away from the wall now. Without thinking, Gilbert clutched onto her arms, and shoved her towards the couch, where she toppled over, backwards into the coffee table. She hit her head on the side, but was still awake. Elizabeta yelped out as Gilbert began to move closer again, and she tried to stand up, only falling over the coffee table once more, her arm wiping off the glass porcelain tea set that sat upon it, that too smashing on the floor.

Without thinking, Gilbert bent over Elizabeta and held her down, watching her squirm from under him. As he watched the fear in her wide, emerald eyes, he moved his hands from her shoulder up, and they met with her neck, and like a tight necklace, they clenched around it. She gagged, and struggled to fight back against Gilbert, kicking him and slapping out wildly into the air. Her face began to redden, and then, darken into a shade of blue. Her hands met with his as she trued to pull them off, gagging and wheezing, and begging without speaking. Anything to stop this, anything she tried. Gilbert pressed her down against the coffee table and listened to her begin to quiet her rugged, panicked breaths, drowned out by her lack of oxygen. Soon enough, as the last of Elizabeta's life burned out, Gilbert was filled with insane, delusional, utter joy and excitement, and he let go of her neck, his red handprints stained behind.

And he looked over her lifeless body before the real feelings and truth sank in.

"...I just...killed..." He began to get the same wheezing as he began to have something that felt like a panic attack, and boy, was it the worst he had ever had. He couldn't form sentences, he couldn't even think for his head ached as he drained away the murderous thoughts from his mind, replaced by fear and confusion, all bound up to become one; chaos.

She was dead. Elizabeta was dead, and Gilbert killed her. She was gone.

Since Gilbert had no other choice, and frankly he preferred to not make matters worse, Gilbert called the police station to turn himself in. He could of hid Elizabeta's body and went into hiding somewhere, but he was too much of a scaredy cat to do something like that. He knew hiding with his brother would be of of the question, since Ludwig wouldn't want to be involved with a murder since he was more of the moral type, so Gilbert could only depend on his friends. Even if one of his friends helped him hide, they could get caught and both of them would go to jail, and Gilbert didn't want anyone to go through that because of him. He didn't want anything else on his slate, no one else to be involved instead of him.

So Gilbert waited until the unit arrived to come get him, and as he did, he questioned if he _should_ try to kill himself. After holding a few pill bottles in his hands and dropping them, not able to open the or anything, decided against that resolve. He was already a coward, but he didn't want anyone else to know it. Besides, the morgue already had one body to claim, he didn't want to have them get his either. Not yet, anyways, although he knew it was going to happen anyways. He'd be given a grave maybe earlier than expected. And that wasn't anything to look forward to.

Also, as he waited, he called Antonio and Francis. He told them all that happened, and that he was so sorry. They were good friends with Elizabeta, too, and they didn't ever expect anything like this to happen, and definitely not from Gilbert's own hands. Even though the two were shocked and hardly proud that the Prussian had turned himself in, they forgave him and promised to tell everyone the horrible, terrible news as soon as they could. Gilbert was in the middle of trying to call Ludwig, needing to hear his voice no matter how loud and angry it would be, when there was knocking at the door. Gilbert dropped the phone, trusted his friends to tell Ludwig, and wobbled to the door. In no less than a minute, he was handcuffed, and ordered to be taken down to the precinct whilst the detectives and police carried on with their investigation.

Of course, there had been a struggle between the murderer and victim, Gilbert knew that well enough, first-handedly. He was pulled into questioning about the events, gave his statement, and the actions that had occurred that early morning that it still was proved to be true, although the fighting words had not been cleared, and there was no way to prove them anyhow. The detectives inquired the feud between the two, and Gilbert testified to that, yes, they did, once, hate each other, but he had no where to go. They were mending their relationship when it went awry when he had went out drinking, and Elizabeta got angry, and he threw out insults at her, not expecting her to snap, or he himself to snap, not like he did, anyways. The police believed he was dead drunk, but he could recall the events so easily, remember as much as the details as the detectives themselves knew, so that was proved wrong. He was barely drunk at the time. It was a blind rage situation. Gilbert knew that, too. Why would he ever want to kill Elizabeta? Why would he do it if he didn't ever plan or think about it? There was no answer to these questions, so Gilbert didn't have a motive.

After all, Gilbert turned out to have committed second degree murder.

As anyone would, he was given the right to testify to the court, so the court could decide his prison sentence. He told every single thing that he did for the detectives, truthfully. He wouldn't lie, making anything worse, and he had no reason to lie. His friends shown up, giving their own testimony, as to what they were doing before the time of murder, and to Gilbert's surprise, Ludwig showed as well, but had no testimony to give, only sit in the audience. Gilbert felt like his brother's cold blue eyes bore into his back the whole time with a gaze of disappointment, but when Gilbert received his sentence, he didn't know what Ludwig's expression was. He didn't know what Antonio or Francis's expression was, and much less his own. He felt like he was stabbed in the heart when he was given his sentence, all his dreams shattered, all his plans, like he and Ludwig going on vacations together, and Gilbert writing his own books, and whatnot, burning up in flames so high he didn't know what to think.

Life in prison...

This wasn't the life for him. He didn't deserve it. He didn't. Gilbert didn't mean to kill Elizabeta, but it happened. He just wished so very much that he could change everything, take back what was said, take back what was done, so he'd still be able to be on the outside world, with all of his friends. But now, he was locked up in a cell, a cramp dusty one. He received rare visits from anyone, usually Antonio or Francis, Feliciano or Alfred, but almost never from his brother. Some days, Gilbert felt so alone. He was.

Once, Gilbert shared a cell with another man, shorter and tinier than himself. The mans name was Harris, and he was sure a talker. He was nice, actually, and Gilbert and he actually befriended one another. Harris stayed out of fights like Gilbert did, and usually stayed around Gilbert as if he was seeking protection, and he wasn't to get any with the Prussian, but Gilbert said nothing to him about not being strong. Gilbert's over confident ego poked out like a sore thumb, so he was usually left alone as if he would actually do something. He could never bring himself to hurt anyone again, never more to place his hands around anyone's neck. But, Harris was just as scared as Gilbert was. Harris had short, black hair, and a stubby chin, and for a prisoner, he was rather smooth and clean, only because he had just been arrested. Harris had only threatened a cop, out of rage for some reason Gilbert was afraid to ask about. Harris, although he knew what Gilbert was in for, wasn't afraid of him. Gilbert was glad he had finally gotten a friend.

But then, only weeks later, Harris was mauled to death by murderous, hungry inmates who had been preying on people that day.

Gilbert secluded himself more efficiently, to the point no one even saw him. He watched as daily, people died of sickness, or age, or fights, or anything, just waiting his own life out. Gilbert sat in his cell on the top of the bunk bed, and for a long while he was the lone cellmate. Gilbert was scared to get a new cellmate, worried it would be some rapist or pedophile, or murderer, anything horrible. So he was alone, and for him, it felt more of a better thing. He didn't speak to anyone anyways. So he was okay.

One day, he was visited by Ludwig. It was, again, a sudden appearance, so it wasn't abnormal until Ludwig announced he was paying for him to be placed into a better cell. Gilbert asked about his generosity when Ludwig simply replied that, Gilbert, his big brother, needed to stay in a better place, and that he, Ludwig, loved and cared about him. And that was about it. Gilbert was gracious and glad to get out of that cell, and when he was placed in his new one, it was certainly better than the last. It had a better bunk bed, cleaner floors and walls, and a spare room for the bathroom, instead of just having it right up on him. Gilbert was also the only one sharing the room, at the time, that is.

A few better slept nights later, Gilbert was in the cell when he heard the doors opened. Gilbert knew it wasn't lunch yet, and that it wasn't time to roam in the main interaction area, or go outside or anything. Gilbert turned around to see if he had a visitor, or maybe he had somewhere to go and had lost track of time, when someone was put into the cell with him. He was told a few things by the guard, the cell was relocked, and then both of them were left alone.

About the same time that Gilbert noticed the other, the other noticed him, and for a while, they locked eyes, not moving. Gilbert finally managed to look away, nodding to the other man that stood tall and skinny, continuing to stare at him, all the while wondering just who the fair skinned, violet eyed man might be.


	2. Chapter 2

**{Hello my readers! I am so very sorry for the late update, but as you know it is almost summer or maybe it is already summer for some of you, so I've been busy on my end of quarter testing and other stuff such as, so I hadn't time to get anything done, please understand that. Even so, I am back, and I will be beginning to update my stories and even add one. Also, I will be re-doing some chapters that lack detail and adequate storyline, etc. so I'll be pretty busy this summer. Anyhow, I'll leave you to the story. Thank you so much for reading, have a good day! - Nimiutona}**

It sure was awkward in that moment. The man who was put into the same cell as Gilbert was a quiet person, and sat on the bunk bed silently for about an hour, Gilbert on the top, the man on the bottom. Gilbert hadn't the time to get a good look at him, but like Harris, he was clean, with smooth, white skin, not as white as the Prussian's skin, that you couldn't help but notice at first glance. The man didn't seem too old, maybe younger than Gilbert, even. The other had golden rimmed glasses that tried to hide his light violet eyes. He also had brown hair, but Gilbert didn't catch anymore details than that. Gilbert tried to think of something to say, which was very hard ever since he secluded himself from everyone and hadn't spoken a single word to anyone in a few months, so he waited for an opportunity to get in a word. He sat on the edge of the bunk, his legs placed under him so they wouldn't impolitely stick out, dangling near the other. He thought about looking down, and when he did, he wasn't the only one trying to catch a peek.

His eyes caught with the other's, and for a moment, their gazes met and stuck. He was able to get a better look at the man now; he had a pointed chin that jutted out barely, naturally narrowed eyes like Gilbert's own, and...small pink lips. A beauty mark on one side of his lips. Moving on. Gilbert saw that the other's hair was shaggy in the back but no longer than two thirds down the back of his tiny neck, with the front of his hair slicked back, except for a bit that was let free over his forehead, stopping there before it got to the eyes much less the slender eyebrows, along with a curled hair that poked out like it refused to be controlled like the rest. The other must have had realized that Gilbert was looking him over, but not before the Prussian noticed that the man was doing just the same. Served both of them right, being utterly attractive. That, Gilbert had to admit. The man was rather intriguing, and Gilbert had enough self confidence that he believed he himself was worthy of a compliment that no one ever seemed to give except himself.

The man made a small noise, reddened lightly on his cheeks, and looked down at his hands, his calloused hands that clasped together. "I-I'm sorry, I just...I was wondering...w-who are you...?" Now, Gilbert wouldn't call the new roommate to be the curious type, for he was surely not as curious as Harris was, who asked every question he could conjure up the minute he met him, and muster every single bit of information he could. Harris was a talker, again, but this man was no talker. He couldn't even manage a single mere glance up at Gilbert as he asked him the question. However, it was polite to answer, the man was only nervous. A first timer was sure to be, although he couldn't say the same for Harris because that would be lying.

Gilbert continued to allow his eyes to linger over the man for a moment before he answered. "I'm Gilbert." His voice was hoarse when he said it, and barely dismissed as a sore throat when the other looked up at him as if he could hear him better just by doing that. At least the others' eyes were on him. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." Gilbert announced louder, this time, his words met the man's ears. "And you are?"

"I-I'm Rodreich Edelstein." He stuttered, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm just.."

"Nervous? You don't need to explain anything." Gilbert informed him. "I understand why you'd be nervous. This place is pretty scary." Gilbert leapt off the top bunk, suprising Rodreich and barely missing landing on him by a few inches, his bare cold arm brushing against the others'. Gilbert looked Rodreich in the eyes again before saying, "Trust me. I've been here for about a year. It would be good for you to get some friends."

"Friends? How?"

"I don't know, I don't have any. Figure that out yourself." Gilbert shrugged, not knowing how to make friends, since personally, he didn't have any and didn't know how to get any. He just assumed maybe this pretty boy, not that he'd really be calling him pretty, would get a couple of friends, and a whole lot of boyfriends for sure. Lucky for Gilbert, he himself didn't have any associations with any of the other prisoners, except for his new roommate. Gilbert didn't really want to be friends with this Rodreich fellow, afraid that just maybe he'd get attached to him, and end up loosing him too. It had happened before, and this boy was attractive, once again he wasn't admitting a single thing, but he was far more attractive than Harris was, and O, would the monsters want to all get a taste of that.

Although Gilbert barely knew this guy, he hoped he wouldn't have to watch out for him, at least not much. Rodreich didn't seem like the type that could handle a mob of dirty men, sexually hungry, or even just begging for a fight, or looking to kill; Rodriech was too petite to look threatening, and boy his voice did not help him seem intimidating. Why was he here, then? He couldn't of possibly killed anyone. He didn't seem like someone who robbed some store at gunpoint, or even threatened to murder someone. He was just too...normal, with an elegant spice. Hey, this boy was lingering of elegant spice. Gilbert could smell it seeping off of him from where he sat, not too close to him, but not too far.

Rodreich made a noise, added a quiet, "Right.", then was silent once more, making Gilbert a bit frustrated.

"...hey, Rodreich." He said suddenly, the other gazing at him again since he had spoken up. "You German, yeah?" Of course he was German, dumbass. If he lived in Germany, of course he had to be. He spoke German too. There was just something about him, something about him...Gilbert couldn't point it out. Maybe it was his name? His last name sounded a bit Jewish, but a bit...

"No." Rodreich said, and confirmed the German's suspicions. "I'm Jewish-Austrian. Uh, mainly Jewish."

"Oh." That was exactly what Gilbert had been thinking. The man beside him had seemed different, his accent now noticeably breaking away similarities with Gilbert's German accent. Gilbert was not good at depicting accents, and half of this problem was that he had never been to Austria. He couldn't even tell a Southern German accent from a Northern one, or Eastern and Western.

They sat there silently for a little while again, and Gilbert once more was aggitated. He got up from where he was sitting and walked around the little room a bit, going over to the small barred in window they were allowed to have. It was taunting, really, and for Gilbert's own sake and most likely Rodreich's too, he wished that he didn't have one. To see a bit of the outside world was breaking him away inside. To see the world and the sunlight, to gaze off and wonder how his friends were doing and his family, all carrying on with their lives. Something Gilbert would never feel, the sweet bliss of freedom he once knew that was now biting him in the ass. Made him queasy in the stomach, an ache that would never fade away with time.

Rodriech seemed more relaxed, however. He sat on his bunk rather calmly at first glance, as if he had barely any worries in the world. Must've not of done something so vile as murder someone, like Gilbert did. Must've not have been given a life sentence, might even be getting bailed out soon or something. But, then again, this Austrian man could turn out to be just like Harris; not had commited a horrible crime, but still suffered the curse of death, something they didn't deserve. That, or maybe Rodriech was used to being in prison. Gilbert rethought that statement, for it was obviously false about how nervous the Austrian had been before. So, what explained why the man was so calm appearanced now? Gilbert could conjour up no ideas.

This man was different. He just was. He was too petite to be a criminal, and too twitchy to be a...well, a criminal. Nothing about him made him adequate enough to be an inmate, not his hair, not his face or glasses or elegant aura, his fine, stong smell. Nothing, freakin' nothing was what Gilbert could point out. It was going to drive him crazy, but he'd rather not ask just why the man was in for yet. It wasn't any of his business, really, no matter how much he really was so curious to know. But the albino was actually polite, thank you kindly, so he decided to keep to himself. Gilbert's own was Gilbert's own, and so was Rodriech's own. A pity, but not a tragedy.

Out of the corner of Gilbert's view, he was able to eye the Austrian who had been cast back into a sort of nervous state. Now he was really twitchy, and Gilbert could see a different sort of unsettling twitch in one of Rodreich's eyes, and maybe it had been both as well. They darted around, not like he was trying to take in all that he could, it was just that he couldn't help it, or control it. It made Gilbert have to look away, noticing the man sitting so starkly, so curved. He shifted around where he sat, till eventually he was almost laying back. Gilbert didn't think he could stand it any longer, he had to ask something that wasn't his own business, but who even cared anyways?

"Rodriech, you just got arrested, right? Just a while ago?"

Rodreich's eyes flashed onto Gilbert's back, since he had faced away from him in a shade of confusion and a light dash of fear that he wouldn't admit for a single thing. The Austrian didn't answer right away, sitting up straight again, and basically forcing his eyes to stay still, as if he was hiding something. But, he didn't answer with a lie, and replied, "A few hours ago." Gilbert could at least tell that he wasn't lying, since being such a good liar would help anyone in these situations of trust, if you call the question a trust test.

Gilbert knew then it would have to be something not so bad now. He felt bad for the Austrian that he was pulled into jail, and put into a cell with him of all people, someone who was never getting out, someone who did something so horrible. Someone who commited murder. Now, the man didn't deserve to be put in 'danger', did he? By danger, Gilbert meant that he didn't know if he would ever snap again or not. He honestly didn't trust himself enough and knew well that he never would, that he could control himself if he was even pushed to his limits or if he got even the slightest amount of pissed off. What if he snapped again and killed someone? Then, he was sure he'd be strapped to an electric chair, hung, whatever. He didn't want any of that, although sometimes he did. But what Gilbert really didn't want was to ever touch anyone again, much less murder them. He was already in for enough, in for life, so what was the point? He would rather be killed that kill. He had lost his fight, and the woman was the reason. She was the reason he was in here, and she was the reason he never even pestered the thought of killing ever again, those stupid childish thrills, thinking that such a stunt was in anyway awesome. Boy, it wasn't.

Gilbert took in what Rodreich said a bit more before responding, "You don't seem so good."

Almost instantly, Rodriech said, "I am just fine." Suspicious behavior, and now the pretty boy was lying. He couldn't be fine, the way he was looking he was on the verge of collapsing. Gilbert turned and leant against the wall, glaring down the other, who now seemed to be quivering. No, not seemingly once Gilbert had gotten a good look at him. He was quivering, his hands balling into fists over and over, his pupils small, dialated, foggy grey dots.

"You sure about that, boy?" Gilbert asked hollowly. "Because looks to me you're high." It hurt to admit that was the vibe he was recieving from Rodreich, but that was the only thing he could think of. Gilbert thought back to the man's physical apperance; frail like he hadn't eaten in days, nothing to do with drugs, but then his finer features also didn't help. But his smell...his smell...a hint of smoke that laced in between the heavy coat of cologne. Personally, Gilbert never had taken drugs, but he had seen many upon many men, the prison being an only men prison, come in only from a few hours of being arrested, and have the same symptoms that Rodreich was exhibiting. Those twitchy eyes and shifting gazes, active, hyper body movements, uncomfortableness, nervousness. Every single one, the Austrian had. To prove Gilbert much more, Rodriech switched his gaze away from Gilbert again. He was ashamed, Gilbert saw it in his glazed orbs. He did not respond, but he did not have to. "...so that's it. Should've assumed as much, since you don't look much the type of a murderer."

Rodreich choked out a single sentence, "I'm sorry...but there is an explanation as to why...I'm even like this...and in here."

"Save it, kid, that's your business. We could talk about that later, but honestly, you need to relax." Gilbert told him, instructing, "Sleep it off." Brutally honest, Gilbert didn't give a single shit about why the Austrian was high as he was. Gilbert hardly even cared the man's name. He turned away from him to stare out of the window once more, tired of looking at the other who couldn't get his own wild eyes off of him. So annoying, it was, but Gilbert couldn't force him to look elsewhere could he? Gilbert didn't want to be horribly rude, or really rude at all. But sometimes, that could not be helped.

Rodreich laid down, a bit afraid of Gilbert for all the Prussian himself could tell. He asked another thing, as if to sleep in any relaxing state he'd need to know the answer, "Are you...what are you, then...? A drug addict...or a murderer?"

Gilbert smirked a tiny bit, having never been asked the question before. He would hate to have to answer, as he had never rolled a blunt in his life, so he'd feel bad to just lie to a man he might snap and kill one day. However, answering truthfully wasn't really what he preferred to do at the moment, tense for the others' reaction. Simply, he decided, "You don't need to worry about that. Now go to sleep already."


	3. Chapter 3

A few days had passed, until it was the start of a new week. For the Prussian, nothing exactly changed, since he had been in jail for so many weeks he could easily spot if something was off from the last, which it never was. More fights, more prisoners, more death. Nothing seemed to ever change. At first, that had bugged Gilbert and made him uneasy, but now that made Gilbert's life in prison more predictable. He already knew what to expect, but, the Austrian did not. Even more about Rodreich; he had finally calmed down. He wasn't high anymore so his muscles didn't strain and freely manuver him, and he could control his eyes. His eyes weren't glazed anymore, except that they were droopy from lack of sleep and from coming off of drugs slowly and slowly. He was sure not getting any in here. It wasn't like he needed it; obviously he hadn't been using it for medical reasons, since Rodreich was perfectly healthy for all that Gilbert could tell. Anyhow, for health reasons or not, Gilbert didn't believe drugs solved anything unless it was prescribed by physicans. Don't do your own research. Believe what you believe, sure, but not everyone will agree with you, and that also included Gilbert.

Gilbert often laid on the top bunk awake at night, and listened to what occured below him. The Austrian rarely caught a wink of sleep, and when he didn't, he was usually softly crying to himself. It bothered Gilbert, but who was he to say anything? It wasn't his place or his business if someone was crying for whatever reason, and wasn't his place to invade privacy and ask why or try to stop them. Gilbert was in no way close with the man, so what did he care? Well...he cared some, apparently, since Rodreich's crying made him think. Why did he himself never shed much tears while he was in here? For crying out loud, he murdered his ex-girlfriend, and someone elses current girlfriend too! He left behind his life, his family, his friends. He left behind his goals, his dreams, his passions, all to be locked away in a musky jail cell. Maybe this one wasn't so dirty, but it still made Gilbert feel just like the animal he was and deserved to be. He should be crying, just like Rodriech was. So why wasn't he, then? Gilbert didn't understand. And even when he tried to cry, nothing came out, no matter how hard and deep he thought, no matter how long he stared up at the ceiling, or at the wall, without blinking. He couldn't escalate anymore than fogged vision. That was it. Was he just not compassionate, was he selfless? What was he?

He was an animal.

Those few days passed by rather quickly and went without a word. Even more awkward silences cut into the air, and soon enough they couldn't even glance at each other. Everything seemed to bother Gilbert. Although they did not speak to each other, Rodreich acted as a flea on a dog's back, staying right around Gilbert at all times. He was, to the point, frightened of everything around him; brute men, the prison guards, riots, yelling. He was afraid to do something wrong, as if he were to speak out of turn or to take the wrong step that he'd be punished or hit or even killed. He was given a great reason to, since it happened so very often. Gilbert did not blame him one bit, but this, Rodreich following close by him, did not bother Gilbert in the slightest, and even so much that Gilbert decided he had a secret goal; protect the pretty boy until he was let out of prison.

Gilbert expected it soon, but soon it wasn't. Another day passed by, no words exchanged, no guards coming by to take Rodriech away. Gilbert was growing so very curious as to just how much trouble the Austrian was in, that he felt the need to ask. Instead, he chose to wait. Even though he waited, with each hour that they sat in the jail cell, he was watching the bared door, just expecting for someone to come take him. The hour wasn't coming still, so maybe Gilbert had some time. Gilbert wish he knew how long someone would be in prison for being high, or found in possession of illegal drugs, but he had not one clue. He didn't feel like asking Rodriech yet either, so he would wait on that one, too.

Tonight, as it was, the prisoners were put back into their cells after a bit of free roaming as they were so allowed everyday. During that time, Rodriech had, no shocker, followed around Gilbert the whole time. Now, they sat on their bunks, about to go to sleep. However, Gilbert decided that enough silence was enough; it was about time to ask more questions. Maybe this time he could get more out of Rodriech, but still he thought it best to not try to inquire why he was in here and save that for later. Maybe not a wise choice, but after all it was Gilbert's choice.

The albino man noticed that the other was not asleep yet, or even trying to go to sleep, and hopped down from the top bunk. Of course, he startled the other, who urched back a bit when he landed on his feet. Gilbert turned around to face Rodriech, who obviously was surprised by the sudden course of actions that were taking place. But Gilbert didn't look intimidating, so Rodriech didn't shrivel up or anything like Gilbert hoped he wouldn't. Gilbert leant against the bunk bed's ladder and looked over at Rodriech, whose eyes were glued to him.

"Listen, I've been thinking about yo...this 'silent treatment' that's been going on, and I do not like it." Gilbert complained, digging dirt from his nails, still making eye contact with the other, who didn't look directly into his eyes in return, too sheepish to do so. "We need to talk...that said...I want to..." This was going to sound completely stupid and he knew he was just making a fool of himself for people, but he had to shove his pride and petty confidence aside and say, "...I want to be your friend. You obviously need one. Besides, it's getting awkward with you just standing near me all the time and we aren't even talking to each other."

He sat down beside Rodreich, who's gaze now met with Gilbert's, a dash of confusion wavering in the Austrian's violet eyes. Gilbert found it best to add, "Now. Tell me about yourself, and I assume I'll do the same."

Rodreich was speechless, nonetheless, since he hadn't heard the man beside him say anything to him in days, and definitely not as much as he had just said. Still, although he himself hadn't talked in a while either, he figured he should at least try to respond to his demands properly. "Well...not much to say. If you mean how my life is...was, before, then...I was a pianist." Gilbert almost gagged, since he absoultely hated pianists, for specific reasons that he'd rather not recall at the time. However, he allowed the man to keep going without interrupting. "I was inspired by my favorite composers, Chopin, Beethoven, Mos...well, I'm sure you don't care about any of this, do you?" True, he was right. Gilbert cared less. "Otherwise, that was all I cared about; music...and the girl I loved. But, music can last, and...she just couldn't."

Gilbert understood that much. Simple pointless things created by man would never die, but humans would always die. He witnessed first hand, rather, two hands placed around a girl's neck. Not fun to admit, but there was no way around it. It was the truth. It was life.

"I missed her too much. I couldn't get over loosing her. I didn't even want to know who had...killed her." That made Gilbert take a breath in. Some other girl had gotten killed, huh? What a shame. But that happened everyday. "If I knew who it was, I would've..." The Austrian didn't finish his sentence, but Gilbert knew well what he was going to say anyways. "...I needed a way to forget her. I still had music to live for, and when I get out of here, that is all that I will have. So, with that said, I chose not to end myself before I barely began, and chose instead to do something that now I believe is equally as stupid. I got hooked on marijiana, and cocaine, whatever I could get my hands on. I got drunk off my mind. That was damn well stupid. But I forgot her, that was the point."

This had to be the saddest story that Gilbert had ever heard before besides his own life.

A girl that was so important to this man, someone who he loved so dearly, and because of her, no, because of the man who murdered her, he was led into thinking that whatever he could do to forget her was right. That was so horrible, it was so wrong! What kind of monster, what kind of animal could've done this? Who would ever do this, and why? Why did Gilbert feel so wound up about this. It had nothing to do with him. But he felt like he had to say something. He felt sorry, he felt sad. There was something wrong with this story, and he didn't like this story at all. Something about this whole thing...he couldn't help to put himself in the murder's shoes, and he felt guilty. Really, he already did feel the same way. He had murdered a girl before, too, so he knew how it felt everyday to wake up and realize what he'd done. He'd made it where the girl herself would never wake up again. He hated that. More, he hated himself. Still, this tragic story was yet to add up to him. There was something missing, and he was just about to find out just what that missing thing was.

"Worse than that, she had been cheating on me. She...she was even living with the guy. The guy that turned around, and murdered her." Gilbert held his breath. This was all too familar. He almost asked Rodreich to stop talking, but no, he was too curious that he also almost was urged to ask Rodriech to hurry up and talk faster.

"I may not know who the guy was, or what he looked like, but I bet he was the most ugliest, vile man on Earth. Someone who could do this to her, to me, to himself. He even turned himself in, I knew that much."

No. Please, don't.

"I..." Rodreich looked away from Gilbert, whosered eyes were wide and actually starting to make him uncomfortable. "I still miss her. Can't believe it's only been a year. God, Eliza...if I could find that man, I'd kill him myself."

Both of the men went silent now, deadly silent, and this time, Gilbert begged for the talking to cease. This couldn't be happening. He didn't say that. He couldn't of said that. He had better of not have said that. If Rodreich and Gilbert were thinking about the same girl, the same Hungarian girl, then that would mean some serious trouble. But Gilbert was in too far to turn back now. It wouldn't hurt to find out, would it?

"...Rodreich, you said you're an Austrian pianist, yes?" Rodreich nodded, although wondering why the conversation had been brought back around to him again. "Her name was Elizabeta Hedevary, right?"

Rodreich nodded again, a strange feeling washing over him, running up his spine at the mention of her name, and her full name at that. "Yes. Yes it was, but how do you...?" He noticed Gilbert's mouth open when he confirmed that he was talking about the same girl, and then began to roam his mind over their whole conversation, and Gilbert's reactions only led to one explanation. How did he know her name?

Simple.

"Well, Rodreich," He welled up his bravery that he barely even had, and admitted, "...you've found the man. So go on, kill me."


End file.
